


Teacher's Pet

by iamaghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy Potions Student, Draco has anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), almost auror harry potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamaghost/pseuds/iamaghost
Summary: Draco teaches Harry Occlumency, and Harry teaches Draco to throw off an Imperius Curse. Things get out of hand, traumatic memories are processed, and feelings are caught.





	1. a beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm great at starting things, less good at finishing them. Read at your own risk.
> 
> I decided to change the tense halfway through writing this forker. So tense errors may be abundant. Let me know if you find one and I shall strive to remember to change it. 
> 
> Story TWs: memories of violence; portrayals of anxiety, depression and negative self-talk

Draco held his plate tight in his hand as he stopped short in the doorway to the small kitchen. It smelled vaguely of sweat, as the entire Basement 10 wing of the Ministry did, housing the large rooms where the Ministry trained Aurors and the small classrooms tucked down a winding hallway where the Ministry trained everyone else. The kitchen was usually empty, everyone choosing to head aboveground rather than dawdle in the unnaturally lit, perpetually damp space.

But today it wasn’t empty. Harry Potter sat at one of the small tables farthest from the door. He looked up at Draco. Their eyes caught for one second that turned into two before Potter nodded and dropped his gaze back to the book in his hand, which he lowered into his lap so Draco couldn’t surreptitiously read the title. He caught a flash of bright color before it dipped below the table.

Draco swallowed and moved woodenly towards the sink. He rinsed his plate and wetted the sponge, pausing to use his teeth to pull up the cuff of his button-up shirt. He ran the sponge over the plate in slow circles, his ears straining to hear any movement happening behind him. While he didn’t think Potter would hex him in the back — he had testified for Draco, after all, and kept him out of Azkaban — if Potter did want to take a shot he would be hard-pressed to find a better opportunity than Draco, back turned, in an empty remote room.

Draco realized he was holding his breath as his head began to spin, his hand weaving through the air as he put his plate in the drying rack. He sucked in a breath, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room.

“I’m surprised,” Potter said.

Draco jumped, turning to look at Potter. “What?”

Potter nodded towards the dishrack. “That you washed your plate by hand.”

Draco couldn't help the flush that slid over his cheeks despite mentally reassuring himself that he had nothing to feel uncomfortable about. He can’t tell if Potter is trying to make conversation or make fun of him. “Thank you for your input, Potter.” He rolled his eyes. “You'd think people would get tired of your inane comments and tell you to shut up more often, but I suppose it’s hard given the size of your ego. What’s it been, three years running that you’ve won Witch Weekly’s Sexiest Wizard Alive contest?” He's aiming for friendly joking, his mind racing ahead of him to paint a picture of future-him having regular friendly interactions with Harry Potter.

Potter shot up from his chair, which went careening back into the wall. Draco dragged his gaze away from the small scuff it left behind and feels his stomach drop at the look on Harry’s face. He hadn't nailed it on the jokey tone, then.

“Look Malfoy,” Potter snapped, “I’ve been defending you all fucking year so the least you could do is not act like a dick every time we come into contact.”

Draco took a step towards him, frustrated with the tables and chairs in his way and the sudden intensity of this conversation. He wants to shove Potter out a window for making Draco think friendly thoughts in the first place. They aren’t friendly. “I never asked for your protection, Boy Wonder.”

Potter threw his hands up in the air. “You shouldn’t have to ask to be treated like everyone else.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, Potter. Let’s all treat everyone the same. Regardless of their actions during the war. That’s sure to happen.”

“You’ve paid your—” Potter paused, seeming to chew on a few words before continuing, “—your debt.” His eyebrows are drawn low and hidden by the glimmering gold rims of his glasses. The glasses are new. Draco hasn’t seen them before.

“My debt is never paid,” Draco grumbled, very confused now that Potter seemed to be defending Draco against himself. Potter’s eyes flashed, big and green behind the glass. His jaw was tight again, a little muscle fluttering on the right side. “It’s bad for your teeth, you know,” Draco found himself saying as Potter frowned. “To clench your jaw like that.”

Potter’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. Draco flushed and turned back to the sink. He took his plate, only half dry, and fled back to the empty classroom he’s using to study. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could feel sweat prickling at the skin of his forehead and lower back.

Fucking Potter. Anyone else would have left him alone while he washed his plate. Either pretended he didn’t exist or said something rude that Draco could ignore. Nope, not Potter. He's always been too good at winding Draco up. Except now everything is confusing because they've saved each other's lives and they're no longer 11.

The classroom he’s claimed as his own was empty. Given the dust on most of the table-tops, the room had been abandoned for a while. Draco had moved in a month earlier, pulled two of the tables together, and spent a half an hour casting every cleaning charm he could think of around his new desk. So far only Pansy had found his hiding spot. Which, he’s not hiding, despite what she says. It’s simply easier to get work done when he’s in a quiet room than in the constant busyness of the ministry’s library or cafeteria. And it helps that he’s much less likely to catch a stinging hex to the back here.

He shoved his clean damp plate into his bag and dropped into his seat with a huff. A paisley chair cushion he stole from his mother’s townhouse in Paris softened his fall. He pushed Potter firmly out of his mind and pulled one of the large books that take up almost a full corner of the table towards him. He doesn’t have time to give to Potter, even in the safety of his own mind. He’s busier than he’s ever been keeping up with his work in the Ministry’s potions program.

His admittance to the program had been a surprise. He had applied on a whim, figuring that he would complete his schooling in France or elsewhere on the continent. When the owl had arrived at his mother’s house in Paris with a ministry scroll addressed to him held in its claws, Draco had panicked. Had they changed their minds? Would they be sending him to Azkaban after all? Or putting him back on house arrest for the rest of his life?

Instead, the scroll had fallen open under Draco’s shaking hands to reveal his acceptance into the Potion Apprenticeship Preparation Program at the Ministry of Magic Department of Mysteries. Draco had been shocked, to say the least. A few spells for authenticity had eliminated his worries that it was a prank. He hadn’t told anyone that he was applying to the ministry. Although he shouldn’t have been too surprised by his acceptance — Pansy had begun the same program earlier that year. Draco knew he was probably a high-profile example of the wizarding unity the ministry was determined to create.

He had mulled it over for a few weeks, in which his acceptance to programs in Marseille and Stockholm had arrived, before deciding that he would return to Britain. His mother had not been pleased.

He was going into his third month of the program. Although being back in an academic environment was a joy he hadn’t realized he’d been missing so strongly, almost everything else was terrible. While some false sense of courage or pride had driven him back to Britain, it hadn’t lasted long in the face of the tangible, pointed dislike bordering on hatred he faces everywhere he turns in this bloody country.


	2. everything takes an awkward turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry apologizes. Draco has no idea what's going on.

It was a week later when Draco ran into Potter again. He was walking quickly through the Ministry atrium, gaze straight ahead so as not to catch anyone’s eye. He stopped short, his loafers squeaking on the shiny floor, when Potter stepped into his path.

“Malfoy, hey,” he said.

“Potter,” Draco nodded in greeting. He felt every eye in the room watching them like mosquitos landing on his skin and leaving itchy bumps.

“Are you headed to the basement?” Potter asked. When Draco nodded he continued, “Cool. Great. We could walk down together.”

“What?” Draco said.

Potter pointed towards the lifts and walked two fingers through the air towards them.

Draco rolled his eyes, “I know how to walk, Potter.”

“Oh, good,” Potter cheerfully replied. Draco has never been so confused in his life. Potter turned and started walking towards the lifts, his steps slow like he’s waiting for Draco to join him.

The stares that Draco can feel on his skin are sharp and feel even more pointed as Potter looks back at him, his steps slowing to an even more ridiculously exaggerated pace.

“You fool,” Draco snapped, hurrying to catch up to him and not slowing his pace as he breezes past Potter. Potter is quick on his heels until they’re both speed-walking across the Ministry atrium. Pansy is going to be a royal pain in the ass when she hears about their spectacle.

Draco violently pokes the button for the lifts and intertwines his hands tightly together at his waist while they wait. He can see Potter looking at him from the corner of his eye but he refuses to turn, his gaze focused on the Ministry logo on the lift doors.

“I wanted to apologize,” Potter said, and Draco can’t help the way he whips towards him so quickly he almost falls over. Potter caught his arm, steadying him, and Draco’s stomach tightened at the feel of his hand. He has to get out of here.

“You what?” Draco snapped.

“I, uh,” Potter cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize. For, uh, how I reacted yesterday.”

“Okay,” Draco said slowly. He wasn't sure what was going on but his relief was visceral when the lift doors slid open. He didn’t wait a second before squeezing past the rush of people coming out and cramming himself in a back corner. Potter followed him in more slowly, pushing the button for the basement and coming to stand beside him. Other people filed into the lift after them, including a pair of Draco's classmates, who pretended like he didn’t exist. They did notice Potter, though.

Esmerelda, one of the leaders of the We Hate Draco Fan Club, seemed especially intrigued. She elbowed her friend out of the way so she could slide next to Potter. Draco was pleased when Potter paid her no attention. Although it was less satisfying to realize the reason when he met Potter’s gaze, focused intently on his face.

The lift was unnaturally quiet as it slowly descended below ground. Potter was still staring at him, although his eyes jumped to the shiny floor buttons every time Draco looked over, and Draco was going to melt soon if he didn’t stop. By the time the lift stopped at the 10th floor and the doors slid open Draco was sweating beneath his button-down.

They waited for everyone else to filter out first — including Esmerelda, who stared over her shoulder at Draco with a look that would pickle his insides if he wasn’t so immune to it already.

Potter stepped out of the lift and followed Draco as he headed towards the back classrooms. Potter cleared his throat. “Uh, as I was saying, I’m sorry for the way I behaved when we were talking yesterday.”

Draco stopped and stared at him, slightly satisfied to see Potter’s obvious discomfort. “For your behavior?” Draco said. Potter cringed, like Draco was making this worse for him but Draco didn’t have any idea what Potter was talking about.

“I overreacted. I’m uh, sensitive, about the whole Sexiest Wizard thing.”

Draco could feel his eyes widen. How was this actually a real conversation he was having with Harry Potter. “You’re —” Draco swallowed, “sensitive about being called the Sexiest Wizard alive?”

“Yes,” Potter breathed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else on Earth.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Hermione,” Potter said shortly. “She thinks that I don’t talk about my feelings enough. And my therapist says that I need to, uh, share my experiences with the people around me.”

“Oh,” Draco said. That’s it. That’s all that’s in his head. It’s like the whole thing has been swept clean. No ability beyond reacting to Harry Potter sharing his very awkward emotions with Draco because his therapist told him to.

“And it’s part of the apology,” Potter stammered.

“Right,” Draco nodded.

“Because I got mad. When you brought up the Sexiest Wizard thing. And overreacted. I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Draco said again. “Erm, thank you for your apology. I, um, accept it.”

“Great,” Potter nodded sharply.

They stood in painfully awkward silence for a few long moments until Potter nodded again, turned, and sped-walk back down the hallway towards the Auror classrooms.

Draco spent the rest of the day in a weird haze. It was possible he was asleep, maybe? That would be a useful explanation. Because nothing else made sense.

But he woke up the next day and went to the Ministry like he does every day of his damn life and he sat in his classes and studied in the empty classroom and everything was normal except that Harry Potter kept trying to catch his eye but then all he’d do was nod like friendly nods were a thing that they did now. And the whole week was like that. Potter nodding or even starting a conversation when they were both waiting in line for the Floo in the after-work rush hour. And Draco could still feel everyone’s eyes on him like those painfully bright colorful lasers the muggles had in their “raves” and it was awful but at the same time he hadn’t been hexed in days.


	3. can't everyone get along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has another uncomfortable conversation with Harry.

When Draco walked into the kitchen a few weeks later to find Potter sitting at the same table, book in hand, Draco lost his shit. He was everywhere — like the goddamn Ministry of Magic official mascot or something. Draco could hardly think. He was so nervous and sweaty after every fucking interaction with Potter. He had started bringing an extra shirt with him every day. He can’t live like this.

“Are you stalking me, Potter?” He growled angrily. He rinsed and washed his plate with angry movements, his frustration growing when the cuffs of his sleeves got damp with soap. This _was_ his extra shirt. He’d changed this morning after a very long and crowded ride in the lift where Draco had ended up pressed against Potter’s side.

“What? I’m — no. I’m not stalking you.”

“Well, stop popping up all the fucking time,” Draco grumbled. He kept his voice low, not really talking to Potter.

He jumped when Potter’s voice came from behind him, much closer than before, “I’m not trying to bother you.”

Draco turned to him. “What are you trying to do?”

Potter shrugged. “I guess I wanted to check in with you.”

“Check in,” Draco repeated slowly. If Potter thought they were going to have some emotional, healing conversation in a dingy basement kitchen _for the second time_ he could think again. Draco had barely survived the last one. He doesn’t do _emotions_. And he certainly doesn’t do them with Harry Potter.

“Yeah,” Potter said, gaining steam. “It seems like you’re kind of lonely here.” He broke off when Draco’s shoulders lept up to meet his ears. “Not that there’s anything wrong with, uh, doing your own thing.” Potter quickly backtracked, his eyes wide.

Draco scowled at him, annoyed and confused by the conversation. Had Potter found religion? This seems like one of those atone for your sins things — befriending your childhood nemesis. But Draco doesn’t really do absolution.

The silence fell awkwardly until Draco responded, “I’m doing just fine Potter.”

“Sure,” Potter nodded excessively. “I’m glad to hear that. I just thought, er, that maybe you could do with a friend?”

“A friend,” Draco repeated flatly. It had to be religion. Draco had tried religion. Went to church and everything. Joined a youth group. That was a mistake. Not for him. But he had tried. Forgiveness for one’s sins and all that. Sounded appealing.

“Yeah,” Potter grimaced. His cheeks were dark and he rubbed the back of his neck, likely in discomfort. At least Draco wasn’t the only one who found this whole interaction slightly painful.

“Why would we be friends?” Draco asked, instead of the obvious question of why Potter would want to be friends with _him_. Or the potentially more obvious question of who must have put Potter up to this. Maybe it was a prank.

Potter shrugged. “I mean, we’re both in a bit of a weird position here. Me teaching recruits means it’s a little harder to become friends with them. And with you starting your Potions training later than, uh, people you know.” Draco pulled back, a little shocked that Potter even knew he was in Potions training. Or that his only friend in the same training — Pansy, who needed potions to start her own cosmetics company — was a year ahead of him.

“This isn’t Hogwarts, Potter,” Draco squirmed, wondering now if Potter was for real. If he really was trying to befriend Draco. Was that what all the nodding and awkward elevator rides had been for? That seemed fake. “We don’t need a ragtag group of friends to get through.”

Potter ducked his head. “I know that. It’s just nice, you know. To have people to talk to throughout the day. Maybe eat lunch together sometimes. People who actually know you, you know? Not just know what you’ve done.”

Draco scoffed as Potter’s word landed with a little sting. He would like that. He worried this was a joke. That he’d agree and Potter would laugh and Draco doesn’t know if he could handle that. Or _worse_ — that this wasn’t a joke and Potter was for real and Draco was responding poorly but he’s not sure how to fix that. His heart was beating too fast to think. It was so much easier when he and Potter obviously hated each other. “That doesn’t mean that _we_ should be best friends,” Draco said instead of anything clarifying, or at the very least, not mean.

“I know.” Potter frowned. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He sighed, getting frustrated with Draco’s lack of immediate, effusive agreement. Well, Potter could shove his stupid expectations up his ass. Draco didn’t know how to be friendly to Potter. He didn’t know how to let go of their past as easily as Potter seems ready to do. He didn’t even know if they _were_ letting go of their past. “We don’t have to name our kids after each other,” Potter said, rolling his eyes. “Just be friendly. Chat if we happen to be in the same place. Make the next couple years of training easier for both of us.”

“You’re done with training,” Draco said when nothing else came to mind.

Potter looked away and sighed again. “You’re right. Never mind. This was obviously a stupid idea.”

Draco stepped back, feeling irrationally hurt. He had been saying the same thing this whole time, but for some reason it hurt to hear from Potter’s mouth. He was lonely, honestly. He saw Pansy sometimes, but the second year of training included an internship so Pansy spent most of her time away from the Ministry. And Potter did seem like he’s being genuine. If Hermione and the Weasel were going to jump out from behind a trashcan they would have done so already.

“Alright,” Draco said warily. “We can be friendly when we see each other. But I’m not looking for anything more than that.”

“Fine,” Harry snapped. “We’ll continue on in this stupid pattern of sniping at each other like we’re still in school. And you can continue being the lonely asshole no one talks to.”

Draco flushed, could feel the heat racing into his cheeks and the back of his neck. That was a bit harsh. Potter wasn’t even looking at him anymore. And fuck him for being upset that Draco hadn’t immediately shouted in glee when Potter suggested friendship. Not everyone had worked through all their shit in therapy. It was hard to find a sympathetic therapist with a fucking Dark Mark on your arm.

He snapped back before he let himself think. Before Potter finished winding through the tables and got to the door and Draco’s chance to sting disappeared. “Despite what your adoring fans might have led you to believe, your presence isn’t a fucking prize. Not everyone wants to get down on their knees for you.”

Potter flinched. “That wasn’t what I was suggesting,” he snapped, spinning to face Draco, “but if you’re offering I can close my eyes and pretend you’re someone else.”

“Fuck you,” Draco spat, his heart pounding painfully hard in his chest. He wondered if Potter knows. He’s only told Pansy. But Pansy was shit at secrets.

“Jesus,” Potter groaned, “I just wanted to have a normal fucking conversation with you.”

“Well, stop,” Draco said. His voice was hoarse. He doesn’t know if he’s turned on or terrified. He doesn’t understand how they’ve reached the point of yelling at each other in the communal kitchen.

“I will, asshole.” Harry gathered his book and his clunky water bottle, kicking his chair so it slid into the table with a crash. He freed up one hand to flip Draco off.

“You think you’re so fucking special, Potter,” Draco snarled, settling comfortably back into his anger. “But you’re not. You’re just like the rest of us — scared.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry demanded, looking furious. He was still holding his hand out, finger up like a fucking _child_.

“We all know why you’re still stuck as a teacher, training other people to take the job you’re too scared to do.”

“I’m not fucking scared, Malfoy,” Harry growled. His jaw was so tight Draco’s teeth hurt looking at him.

“Sure,” he sneered, so angry he couldn’t breathe. “It’s always been your dream to teach other people to run towards danger instead of doing it yourself.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy. You don’t know anything about me.”

Draco scoffed. “The whole world knows everything about you. How many interviews have you given this week? You’re an open fucking book.”

Potter’s teeth snapped together with an audible click. “You want to know why I’m not an Auror? Why I’m not out on the streets keeping people safe from assholes like you?” Draco’s cheeks flamed but he held Potter’s hard stare. “Because I am an open book.”

“What?” Draco shook his head, nonplussed. That was a stupid comeback. He thought it over again. That wasn’t even a comeback.

Potter took a step back, looking mortified. “Never mind.”

“What do you mean?” Draco frowned, angry and curious and so on edge his stomach hurts. “They won’t let you be an Auror because you’re too famous? Shacklebolt practically won his election by talking about Future Head Auror Harry Potter.”

Potter winced and ducked his head. “It’s not because I’m famous.” He shook his head, shoving his hands beneath his glasses and rubbing his eyes. His cheeks were ruddy and when he moved his hands his eyes were almost too bright to look directly into. “It’s because I can’t do Occlumency, alright.”

Draco froze. His breath felt trapped in his chest. Harry’s eyes were gigantic behind his glasses. He obviously hadn’t meant to reveal something so _revealing_ to Draco of all people. Particularly after they’d spent ten minutes screaming at each other until their veins popped out. And Draco had no idea how to respond. “I apologize,” Draco croaked. His throat was suddenly parched.

Harry flinched back from Draco’s words like he’d been hit. Draco spun on his heel and walked out of the room as quickly as his shaking legs would carry him.


	4. apologies and shaking knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward boys excel at awkward conversations.

Draco called in sick when he really wasn’t for the first time in his life the day after his and Potter’s fight. When Pansy showed up at his flat that evening she gleefully reminded him of the time with the Hippogriff and he reminded her that he hadn’t been faking and the terrifying beast had left a scar a few inches long across his arm. They bickered comfortably while Draco made them dinner and Pansy set the table but the second they sat down across from each other Pansy looked at him and Draco was appalled to realize his eyes had filled with tears.

“My dear,” Pansy said softly as Draco turned away, dabbing at his eyes with his napkin.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, clearing his throat.

Pansy scoffed. “It’s definitely not nothing. I heard stories from three different people about Potter’s foul mood yesterday afternoon. One of the recruits mentioned your name in a whisper and Potter kicked him out of class for a week.”

Draco made a concentrated study of the food on his plate. It looked delicious — everything he made did — but his stomach was still cramped and he hadn’t been able to get more than a few bites down his throat since lunch the day before.

“We got in a fight,” Draco finally said, when it was obvious Pansy wasn’t going to let this go.

She hummed gently in response and then Draco was telling her everything, not meeting her eyes as he recounted every stupid conversation and interaction he and Potter had in the last month.

When he was done Pansy was leaning back in her chair, eyes wide and hands cradled around her glass. “So you and Potter, huh?” she said.

Draco glared at her, a bite of food suspended half-way to his mouth. He looked down and realized he had managed to clear half his plate while he talked. He put down his fork. “We most certainly are not anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Draco, you’ve been obsessed with Harry Potter from the first time you saw him. I was there, remember, when he refused your first advances.”

Draco flushed, thinking of his awkward first-year self holding out a small hand like a grownup. And of Madame Maulkin’s — the boy standing next to him on a pedestal, looking equally as terrified and thrilled by their new adventure as Draco had been. He had never told Pansy about that. There wasn’t much to tell. Just one of many instances throughout his and Potter’s history where Draco looked at him and felt butterflies.

“You should apologize,” Pansy said.

“Yup,” Draco said shortly.

“I mean it, Draco. He’s been doing a lot for your reputation throughout the Ministry. I know you’ve been bothered less lately. I have been, too.” She continued when Draco didn’t respond. “You have to apologize. I’m not going back to constant shield charms. It’s exhausting. I enjoy the lack of hex-attempts.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry my personal problems are inconveniencing you.” 

“You should be,” Pansy said haughtily until Draco laughed and she relaxed with a smile.

Their conversation moved on as Draco picked at the last of his meal and the bottle they were sharing got a little lighter. Pansy told him all about her internship and Draco complained about his classmates and everything was normal. When he finally put Pansy up on the couch, dumping blankets on top of where she was sprawled half-drunk across the cushions, he felt lighter. Thank Merlin for Pansy and her endless misguided affection for him. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. 

"Ugh," she groaned, cracking her eyes open. "I'm drunk not dead, you ninny. Get out of here with your sap." 

He grinned and turned off all the lights. He made his way to his en suite bathroom in the dark and spent a half-hour with his hair and skin potions, getting ready for bed. Tomorrow was a new day. Maybe he would even consider what Pansy had said.

When he awoke the next morning to find Pansy gone and his tea kettle whistling, he thought about what she had said. And then he thought about their conversation constantly for a week. He knew she was right. Draco did appreciate what Potter had done to speak up for Draco and Pansy and everyone else who still felt the disdain earned in the war. And he and Potter had been friendly. It was weird and made his stomach hurt, but Draco missed it.

Two weeks after their fight, Draco paced the hallway outside of the locker room in the Auror training wing of the basement. The smell of sweat was significantly stronger there. Everyone who left gave him a look but he hardly noticed. He was too busy pacing and trying not to throw up the few bites of breakfast he had forced down an hour earlier.

He had no idea what he was doing there. Well, he had a vague, half-formed idea. And now he was waiting impatiently for Harry fucking Potter to appear like it was normal to seek each other out. Like they hadn’t spent the past two weeks avoiding each other. Like the hadn't spent the last ten years antagonizing (and attempting to murder) each other. Like they’d ever managed to have a conversation that hadn’t ended in biting words or wands drawn. They should have stuck with friendly nods. They were good at nodding.

He had almost convinced himself to turn around and abandon his stupid, impulsive idea — after all, it wasn't a Slytherin trait to go rushing into danger before thinking it through, and given how tight his chest was, his plan _felt_ dangerous — when Potter stepped out of the locker room, rubbing his wet hair with a hand towel.

“I’d like to talk to you,” Draco blurted out, relieved that Potter had taken so long that no one else was in the hallway and wishing he had nicked Potter's invisibility cloak in school and never given it back specifically in preparation for this moment. He would like nothing more than to disappear.

Potter froze, his towel stretched tight between his hands, knuckles white. He nodded shortly and turned down the hallway that led to the empty kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Draco followed him. When Potter got close to the kitchen door Draco lightly tapped his elbow, squeaking when Potter jumped about a foot in the air.

“Sorry,” Draco breathed. They were standing too close and he could see the colors in Potter’s eyes behind his glasses. “I was going to suggest we talk somewhere that’s…not….the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Potter said, looking around as if wondering what else could possibly be at the end of the dingy hallway.

Draco led the way into his empty classroom. He waited while Potter took in the room, his gaze lingering on the tables pushed together, piled with books, papers, and spare quills.

“Is this?” Potter asked.

“I study here.”

“Ah,” Potter said like it was a complete sentence. He continued when Draco didn’t. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” Draco cleared his throat. “It’s my turn to apologize.”

Harry shook his head, looking alarmed. “Oh no, it’s mine, too.”

“Well, you already had your fucking turn,” Draco snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Potter was staring at him, his bottom lip trapped behind his front teeth. “Are you grinning at me?”

“No,” Potter grinned harder.

Draco shook his head. “Well, stop. It’s weird. As I was saying, I would like to apologize for my language the other day. I was quite mean to you. And I apologize.”

“Thank you,” Potter said, looking suitably somber. “I, too, apologize for my, uh, language. It was uncalled for.”

Draco scoffed, “It was perfectly called for Potter, I was being a dick.”

“I had started it,” Potter shook his head.

“Are you kidding me?” Draco asked, scathing. “You were literally trying to befriend me in that dingy kitchen. I was the one who didn’t believe it.”

“No, look it was me —” Harry paused, his head tilting to the side. “What do you mean you didn’t believe it?”

“Oh Merlin, no. We’re not doing this again. I’m done having weird emotional conversations with you.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Keep your therapist away from me.”

Potter laughed, the sound bright and almost painfully shocking in the dusty space. Draco’s breath caught at the sound.

“Alright,” Potter grinned, “no more emotions.”

They stood awkwardly in silence for a few long seconds as Draco frantically tried to figure out what to say next. Merlin, this was what he got for trying to be a bloody Hufflepuff. “I have something else I’d like to say,” he finally squeaked out.

“Okay,” Potter said, his head tipping to the side like a dog. Draco wondered if his neck ever hurt.

“I’m quite good at Occlumency,” Draco said.

Potter’s face immediately shuttered. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Draco grimaced. “That sounded bad. I’m not making fun of you.”

“So what are you doing?” Potter said, still looking wary and hurt.

“I’m offering to teach you,” Draco said and then held his breath.

“Teach me,” Potter repeated flatly.

Draco nodded, cursing himself for ever thinking this could be a good idea. It most certainly was not. But now he was too far in. The last thing he wanted was for Potter to think Draco was making fun of him. He couldn't handle giving another apology. He was sweating too much from this one. He would get dehydrated if he had to do this again. He took a deep breath.

“I’ve had a lot of practice at Occlumency,” he began. “I thought, maybe, I could help you. If you wanted. And if not, that’s fine. I’m probably not the person you would choose to teach you. Or maybe you don’t want to be taught. That’s fine. I mean, maybe it’s not, since it’s keeping you from being an Auror. Not that you wouldn’t be a great Auror. I mean, you did defeat the Dar — um, You-Know-Who, I mean.” Draco wound to a stop, his lungs tight with lack of air.

Potter was staring at him with wide eyes and it wasn’t helping the panicky feeling in Draco’s chest. “Thank you,” Potter said and Draco wanted to melt into the floor. He nodded instead, wondering if this conversation would end if he refused to say anything else. They could go back to nodding. They were good at that. Potter continued slowly, “I’m not…opposed to learning Occlumency. There aren’t a lot of people I trust to teach me.”

Draco nodded again because that made sense. Occlumency required a large amount of trust. Draco’s mother had taught him from a young age. He couldn’t imagine trying to learn as an adult, willingly giving someone permission to try to break into your head and dig through all the thoughts and memories within. And that’d be worse for Potter, whose hangers-on were always talking to the press, hoping to catch a glimmer of Potter’s fame.

“Absolutely,” he finally said. “I understand.” He shrugged. “It was a silly idea. Mostly, I wanted to apologize for my behavior.” Draco swallowed hard to gather his courage. “You had mentioned that you wanted to be friendly.”

It was Potter’s turn to nod. “Yeah, I don’t think, I mean with the Occlumency, I’m not really, uh interested. But friends — I mean, friendly would be great. But we don’t have to. It’s okay. We do have a lot of history.” Potter looked away.

“No,” Draco said quickly and felt the full force of Potter’s gaze when he turned back. “I mean, we do have a lot of history. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t get past it.” He wondered if he said the words enough if they would start to feel true. It wasn't even their violent history that Draco had a hard time letting go of. No, it was all the other times — it was the strange shared obsession between the two of them that had Draco’s stomach twisting every time Potter met his gaze. Every time Potter slid next to him in the elevator and stood too close so their shoulders were constantly brushing.

“Great,” Potter said, looking surprised.

“Great,” Draco mimicked. “Good talk,” he added, nonsensically. He spun towards the door before realizing that this was his commandeered classroom and he had nowhere else to go. He didn't have class for another hour and his stuff was scattered across the tabletop behind Potter. He spun back around.

“Right,” Potter said, smiling softly. “I’m glad we talked.”

Draco nodded.

“I’ll see you around,” Potter said and Draco held his breath as he walked by. He counted slowly to five and then spun on his heel, staring at the empty doorway with a racing heart.


End file.
